On Wings of Sand and Snow
by Webdog177
Summary: The year I turned twenty, I read a poem about how true love flies into your life on angel wings. But, as it turned out, the poem was wrong. My Love didn't fly in on angel wings. She clomped in on snowshoes in the middle of August. Mind the 'M' rating [Elsanna, nonrelated, one-shot]


Disclaimer: I own nothing. This is for entertainment purposes only

A/N: So here we have my first dive into the Frozen fandom. Should be fun.

This was inspired by J. Peterson's 'Snowflake' in the same fandom. If you haven't read it yet, by all means, go ahead and read it. I can wait.

Now that your back,

Enjoy.

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 **On Wings of Sand and Snow**

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The year I turned twenty, I read a poem about how true love flies into your life on angel wings. I didn't really believe in angels, but I believed in poetry and I was desperate for love, so I took to watching out my kitchen window, listening for the tell-tale whisper of feathers against glass. January through July, I looked for girls who looked they could leap from rooftops, recited poetry to every single chick who was so pale I swore I could see through them, and fucked women until they screamed about God in heaven.

In the end, I hadn't found anyone who resembled what I thought my Love should look like, and I figured I must had made my way through pretty much all the regulars and at least half of the summer crowd.

But, as it turned out, the poem was wrong. My Love didn't fly in on angel wings. She clomped in on snowshoes in the middle of the hottest, driest mid-August day I had ever seen in my twenty years of life. Her mane of hair fell down her back in a spool of braided copper, and eyes that could have fought with emeralds for the privilege of 'brightest shade of green'. Her snowshoes were the older kind; wooden frames on the outside, and ropes woven like giant spiderwebs around her bare feet.

That god-awful day in August, my Love sand-shoed her way over to the shade of my lifeguard chair and plopped herself down on the bottom rung.

"Fuck me in the ass," she said, breathing heavily. The air was so still I could smell her; tangy and lip-cutting like a blue ice-pop. "It's hot as fuck out here. Where's the snow?"

"You can't sit there," I said, looking down on her from my vantage point of the lifeguard chair. After all, I didn't know she was my Love yet. All I knew was that she was blocking my path to the ocean. You never know when somebody might get caught in a riptide trying to take a breather.

She scooted over about a quarter of an inch, then lifted one side of her buttcheeks and pulled her green bikini bottom out of it.

"Isn't this Arendelle Beach? Where its 'always winter, even in the summer?'" She asked. I figured I didn't really need to answer her since the chair she was sitting in the shade of said just that in large white letters. And if she hadn't seen that, there were life preserves against her shoulders that also said _'property of A.B.'._ So I figured if she though it meant something different than Arendelle Beach, she wouldn't be talking to me.

She lifted the other side of her butt and tugged at her suit again. I slid on my sunglasses so I could watch her green-painted fingers digging her suit bottom out of her.

When she finally got herself comfortable, she tapped the life preserver. "So, where's all the snow, then?"

I turned my attention back on the ocean. Sometimes, you just can't tell what's a seagull and whats a drowning kid unless you keep the whole roll of the waves in your sights at all times. The poets don't really say anything about that, but you lifeguard through high school and those years when you are 'supposed' to be in college, you start to pick those things up along the way.

"You can't sit there," I repeated. And then, because she didn't seem to want to move, "Besides, have you ever seen snow on a beach?"

She seemed to think about this. Her sigh was the only breeze I'd heard all day. "I wanted to build a snowman."

"It's a hundred and four," I said, and just saying those words made it so. My shoulders sizzled so hot that I was afraid to touch them if they weren't attached to me.

I like the heat. As a kid, I'd wanted to be a beach bum. But this weather was getting to be too much even for me. For the first time in my life, I wanted a cool breeze, an air-conditioner, a place that didn't think ninety degrees was just a warm-up.

She pulled the end of her braid around and stuck it in her mouth. She chewed on it, sucking it in and out of her mouth until it ended up looking like the point of an arrow, sharp enough to piece her lip if she wasn't careful.

"Needs to be colder for there to be snow," she said around the bundle of her hair.

I figured that kind of logic didn't require me to say anything back. Some things you just don't need to comment on aloud.

She spit her hair out of her mouth and looked up at me again, not shading her eyes. I felt a moment of vertigo, like I was looking into a lush, verdant field.

"So, you want to get some ice cream after this?" her lips formed words. "If there's no snow, then I want some chocolate ice cream."

Ice cream sounded pretty good, although I didn't want to eat it. I wanted to rub it over my baked shoulders, over the red that my knees were turning despite being slathered with SPF 50. I wanted to melt it on her pink nose and suck it into my mouth like the tip of a leaking sugar cone.

"Yeah, sure," I said.

After that, we looked out at the ocean for a while. Me, looking for kids who looked like seagulls and seagulls who looked like kids. Her, I don't really know what she was looking at. She was still in my way, but I couldn't tell if I cared anymore.

I sat that way through my whole shift, looking at the ocean and then down at the part in her hair, the way it got pinker and pinker and made her hair look more like spun copper. I wanted to give her my hat, but then I wouldn't have one. And like I said, I didn't know she was my Love. I just thought she was another whack job disguised as my Love come to torment me.

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At the Snow Shack, I told her that's what I thought she was – another whack job.

"You get a lot of those?" she asked. She was peeling bits of pink skin off her nose and dropping them on the table between us.

I lifted my shoulders a little bit in a shrug, feeling them burn. SPF 50 can go suck a dick. I fished an ice cube out of my coke and ran it over the tender skin at the edge of my strap line. "It's a vacation town," I explained. "Girls see an authoritative girl in a swimsuit and then it's all over." I figured I didn't really need to tell her I'd been inviting my fair share of those whack jobs into my bed.

We'd trekked the way from the beach to the Snow Shack, me in my flip-flops and her still webbed in her snowshoes, to get ice cream. But then she ordered cokes and grilled cheese sandwiches for the both of us. A hot sandwich was about the last thing I wanted, but stopping her seemed harder than stopping the weather, and I wasn't sure I had the energy to even attempt to do that.

Despite the greasy fans that _tick-tacked_ overhead, I swore it was hotter in the shack than outside. The heat off the grill made my legs stick to the vinyl seat. I peeled one leg up, and then the other.

She scooted sideways and put her feet up on the seat beside her. As she undid the bindings on her snowshoes, I could see the way her feet were crisscrossed with red and white skin, like a tribal tattoo made from sun instead of ink.

"Don't you wear sunscreen?" I asked.

"Sunscreen?" She asked, blinking rapidly, like she'd never heard of it before.

As she undid her other snowshoe, I sucked on my coke and checked out the rest of her. This close, I could see her better. Her pink lips were thin, and curled down just a little at the edges, and her face was spattered with freckles.

She rubbed her hands across her feet and then turned back towards me. She slid her feet into the hot space between my thighs. A shiver a cool air brushed the inside of my legs and crept up my belly.

"Who are you?" I asked.

She'd gone back to peeling the skin off her nose, and then stopped long enough to hold her hand out across the table. "Fuck me in the ass," she said. "I thought I told you. I'm Anna."

An ice cube wedged itself into my throat. My heart _thump-thumped_ around the ice, shaking it so it felt like I had two heartbeats. I coughed once, and the sharp edge of the cube turned, but didn't move. I breathed through my nose, as ice melted in trickles down my throat. Finally, the cube slid down to a place where I could swallow it.

I took her hand, her cool and smooth hand, and that's when it hit me like a rogue wave. That's when I realized that whatever answer she'd given to my question, I knew who she was; she was my Love.

"Fuck my in the ass," I breathed, just as the waitress came by with our plates. When we let go of each other's hands, the waitress put the plates down on the table, setting Anna's right down on the pile of pink skin peelings that she'd collected.

Even with Anna's cool feet between my thighs, I couldn't bear to touch the sandwich. She ate hers and, after pointing at my plate in question, mine too. With her mouth half-open around bread and melted cheese, I decided that she didn't look much like Love, after all. She looked like lust, and I'd had about enough of that. Still, I sat in that head and watched her mouth move, my teeth crunching around the nearly-melted ice out of the bottom of my glass, and my belly tingling and tugging every time her feet wiggled between my thighs.

"Where are you staying?" I asked.

"Staying?" Anna tilted her head to the side. "Oh, I'm not staying."

It was time for me to go then. I didn't know if I could handle another L-word in my bed that didn't have any of the other letters I was looking for. I stood up to pay the bill, and Anna held out her snowshoes. "Want to try them on?" she asked.

I did, just like I wanted to try her, but I shook my head. Anna stood, barefoot, and padded after me to the register. I was digging cash out of my bag when she handed over her credit card. "I got it," she said, and I let her pay, but I hoped it didn't mean I owed her.

Outside, the sand was hot under my feet, even though my flip-flops, and I almost wished I'd said yes to her and her snowshoes. But then I wouldn't be able to hold out my hand to hers, to shake it and say good-bye and leave her standing at the edge of Arendelle Beach, with her snowshoes and her freckles and her sun-striped feet.

Of course, I didn't leave her, or that would have been the end of the story. I tried to leave her, but when I held out my hand, she gave me her snowshoes. And then she said, "'You remember how she disappeared in winter, obscured by snow that fell blindly on the heart, on the house, on a world of possibilities.'"

"What?" It was the longest thing either of us had said to each other, and I had no idea what it meant.

"'You remember how she disappeared in winter—'"

"I heard you," For some reason, I felt angry. Making my stand there with her stupid snowshoes in my hand, the hot sun beating down on my already blistering shoulders. "I just don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"It's a poem" she said, and sighed, looking up at the sky. "I love poetry."

I didn't know that poem. I know a lot of poems. Her snowshoes were heavy, and then her fingers captured mine.

"Should we go to your place?" she asked.

I said we should.

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At my place, I didn't dare look out the kitchen window. If my Love was out there right at that moment, whispering her wings over my front lawn, I didn't want to know about it. I put Anna's snowshoes but the door and kicked my flip-flops off beside them.

The living room was marginally cooler than my upstairs bedroom, and I led Anna there. It was okay while she walked around, touching stuff, blowing dust off the piles of books, but once she sat on the edge of the futon, I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do with her. I was having second, third, and fourth thoughts. My heart was saying one thing, my body another. I couldn't tell which was which.

I thought maybe we would talk – about poetry or something – so I sat on the chair opposite her and pulled a book from its dusty pile.

"It's so fucking hot," she said. "I really wish it would snow or something." She pulled her tank top over her head, exposing her flat belly and then the small, freckled mounds of her breasts. Her nipples stood out like bright pink berries.

"Um," I said. I'd never been much of a talker, but that day, it was like when you go out in the cold and your lips get so frozen you can't form the round vowels. Frozen, in a hundred-and-four degree hear. Fuck that shit.

Anny lay down on my futon and slipped her bikini bottom down over her small curves. Her braids lay like golden coppery chains across her body.

"Get undressed with me," she said.

All the women I'd fucked in the naked light of summer heat, and I was frozen in front of her verdant eyes.

"Turn the other way," I said.

She didn't laugh or try to reassure me.

"No," she said. "It has to be equal." She put her hands over her eyes, keeping her fingers far enough apart that it was obvious she could see through them.

I didn't know what the hell she was talking about, but I must have been getting used to that, because I slid the straps of my guard suit over my sun-tinged shoulders. I let the suit fall down to my ankles while Anna watched through the space between her fingers. Goosebumps sprinkled along my skin, but it wasn't from the cold. Still, I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered.

"There, now we can be even," Anna said, and she rolled away from me, facing the wall.

I took her in, from the bottom up – her feet, so white on the bottom, her long legs, the curves of her pale ass, her small back – and I understood what she meant about being even.

There, on the skin over and between her shoulder blades, mixed in with the freckles traveling up to her shoulders, were a dozen snowflakes tattooed in white ink, each one different, each one as small as a fingernail. I got down on my knees before her small back and touched my fingertip to each one. When I touched them, I thought they would feel cold, but they didn't; they just felt like skin. I ran my tongue over them, each one, and thought they tasted like snow, clean and pure, the kind you would catch falling down from the sky.

"More," Anna said, when I stopped. Her voice came from somewhere over her shoulder, far away.

I tasted her back until my mouth felt like I'd been sucking icicles, until she shivered and took my hand round the front of her. Even then, I tasted her skin with her fingers, letting them lick the warm-cool skin that was her belly and below her belly. Her pubic hair was shaved short. My fingers played at her folds and she pushed the curves of her ass against my body. Her snowflakes met my breasts and I heard a moan – I wasn't sure if it came from her or me.

Her breathing was as heavy as it had been on the beach, when she'd first sat down on my chair. Other than that, she was quiet until she said, "What's your name?"

My fingers slid through her folds with practiced ease. "What?"

"I have to have something to moan, don't I?" she breathed a laugh. Was it the first time I'd heard her laugh? It must have been, but somehow it was as though I'd heard it a million times. "I can't just be all, "Oh, oh, oh.'"

I'd never wished for a great name before, but I did at that moment. "Elsa."

"Touch me again, Elsa." She whispered.

I did, slipping two fingers inside her to find her both wet and cool. And then I pulled my fingers out and ran them up, finding her clit. I swiped the tips of my fingers along both sides and circled it.

"Elsa," she said again. But it didn't sound like my name ever had before. The say she breathed it, the way she moaned it, it sounded like _Elsa_ , instead of just plain old Elsa.

 _Elsa_.

She rolled over slowly, so my fingers stayed on her, until she was facing me. Her tongue across my lips was like a child licking at her first Popsicle. Just the tip, and then pressed between my lips until they opened to let her in. She brushed her knuckles across my nipples in turn, until my back arched and I was trying to make words in her mouth. I wanted to say her name back to make it into something else, but I couldn't with her tongue on mine, all spongy and sweet.

Anna's still-cool fingers tucked into the gap between my legs, and spread my thighs. Her touch was so light at first it was light she wasn't touching me at all, snowflakes that melted instantly on my hot skin, and I pushed my hips forward until she entered me. Her fingers brought coolness inside, but it didn't last long. I was too hot – everything was too hot – and I rode her hard and fast, until I was so hot and wet that I swore her fingers melted inside of me. She pulled her fingers out and I was surprised they were still there, still fingers after all instead of melted snow. But then she dipped them inside the molten core of my again, and I couldn't be sure of anything I'd seen.

I pushed two fingers inside her and swept her clit with my thumb. We made each other arch our backs and moan and buck, and yet out mouths never broke apart. Even in stifling heat, the way it made the sweat catch in the curves of our bodies and made us sticky-sweet, wasn't enough to pull us apart.

"I'm coming…" Anna sighed against my lips, and then I was too, and I couldn't be sure who had said it first.

It felt like forever until we were two again. Once we had our own mouths back our heavy breaths startled us, made us laugh into the heat of the room. Anna pulled her fingers out of me in a long, slow slide that left me feeling like a beached jellyfish. My own fingers were salt-soaked and pruned from being inside her for so long.

We lay facing each other, out breaths going in and out. The room smelled of salt and sweat and sex.

Anna made her fingers into legs and walked them down the hill of my hip. "Do you have any? Tats, I mean."

"No." It seemed an odd question; she'd just seen my whole body, after all.

She pointed to the front of my hip, just inside the tan line my swimsuit made. "You should get one here. A sun, I think." Her verdant green eyes flicked down to my lips. "Hungry?"

I was surprised to find that I was.

"Got any chocolate ice cream?" She asked. "I'm fucking hot as all fuck."

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We ate naked in the kitchen, with the freezer door wide open. As luck would have it I did have chocolate ice mean, and it was perfect for smearing. Anna dolloped it on my nose and licked it off, like I'd wanted to do to her what seemed like days ago. We didn't talk while we ate but as soon as it got dark, Anna said, "Let's go walk on the beach."

We got dressed, and Anna pulled on her snowshoes. I wanted to ask about them, but I didn't. She talked the whole way down by short driveway down to the beach, half of it shit I didn't even understand, about snow and moving on, so I just held her hand and listened as she talked. The night breeze was coming off the ocean, making me shiver, but her skin was warm enough that I could just lean close to her and it was like being near one of those space heaters.

The moon came out as we followed its light to my lifeguard chair, ghost white and empty against the darkness of the surf. The waves were high and white coming up on the shoreline. A storm was coming. You could hear it in the crash and the tumble; see it in the high fast curls of while.

The only thing I could say was, "Stay."

The only thing I understood was, "Snow." Or maybe it was "No."

I pushed Anna down against my chair, her snowshoes sticking up in the sand in a way that made us laugh. Then I slid my fingers under her shorts, and fucked her hard. I wanted her to remember me in the morning; to touch herself and feel fresh pain. Like leaving my own tattoo on her body, only without ink, one that said my name the same way she'd moaned it earlier. Sand and salt stuck to my skin, scraped my knuckles, and still I fucked her until her voice was louder than the crash of the waves.

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Anna stayed with me that night, slept with her back to me, and her head in the crook of my elbow. Her hair, loose of its braids, took up what seemed like half the bed in a frizzy red mess. She took up the other half, and still there was room for me. I traced the snowflakes on her skin until I fell asleep.

In the morning, she was gone. I'd known she would be. There was no trace of her. The room had risen back to its usual heat, the books had regathered their dust, and even her snowshoes were gone from their home beside the kitchen door. I made coffee and sipped it at the kitchen table, thinking about poetry and how it was just words that somebody else had made up. How it sounded pretty but maybe didn't mean so much.

I didn't have to work, but I was craving the sun and the sand. I was craving the company of waves, the way they brushed the shore, but never said snow or fuck me in the ass of breathed the line from a poem. I could hear the wind outside, the way it whipped against the house. A storm was coming; that's why the big waves last night were so loud. Today, I knew they'd be even larger, white and angry, grabbing pieces of the shore to take home with them until it was gone.

I stood and looked out my kitchen window toward the ocean. The wind was picking up sand and carrying it everywhere. Sand swept across my driveway like fresh powdery snow, swirled in miniature tornadoes, piling down on the mailbox.

In the middle of it all, Anna stood barefoot. She had a snowshoe in each hand. Sand settled in her hair and in the crevices of her clothes.

When she looked up and say me staring at her through the window, she waved with her snowshoe hands.

From that far away, through the shimmer and bend of the kitchen window, the curves of wood and twine of the shoes looked like wings. And Anna looked just a little bit like Love, flying her way over to me.

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 **The End**

A/N: Well that was fun. Thanks for reading!

 _***Will work for glomps***_


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